


In Room 763

by Kizzywiggle



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BAMF Eve Moneypenny, BAMF Mallory, Exhibitionism, F/M, Kink, Pretend hooker, Spies & Secret Agents, Voyeurism, on a mission, video surveillance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7440535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle/pseuds/Kizzywiggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a last-minute sting, and a chance for MI6 to capture a possible informant. </p><p>But because it's so last minute, only two not-usually field agents and one of Q's verrrrrrry special toys are available for the mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Room 763

  
She knocks once.

The door to room 763 opens almost immediately – she is expected – and soft light spills into the corridor, limning her profile, glinting off of glossy lips and shining black curls, catching sparkles on the sequinned dress she wears. She smiles and sort of slides into a seductive lean on the doorframe; the pose highlights her feminine attributes without being aggressive or overly showy.

“Hi,” she says, biting her lip, glancing down at the floor and then up through lashes made up to be impossibly long and thick. “I'm here for Mr. Gladstone?” A masculine hand emerges from the room and clamps around her wrist, pulling her into the room. The door closes.

Her backup sighs. This has been a rushed, last-minute affair (hence his presence, a most irregular occurrence), and he wasn't able to get video surveillance inside the room at such short notice. From this moment on, all information is only via the audio transmitter she wears. Unless she manages to place the camera built into her small clutch bag somewhere useful…but will she remember? He backs around the corner and into the room he's booked to stay close to her, double checking his receiver and that the laptop is ready to receive video. A murmur of voices comes to him through his earpiece and he forces himself to concentrate, shaking off the worry, and throwing a quick prayer in the direction of any god who may be near enough to answer - Let this work!  
“….Drink?”

“Just mineral water, thanks. I like to keep a clear head while I'm working.”

“Dedicated to the job, eh? I like that.” There's the click and fizz of a bottle of carbonated drink being uncapped. “Glass and ice?”

“No, thanks,” Her voice is perhaps the sexiest thing about her, thinks her backup. It's just lighter than an alto, with a hint of huskiness and the ever-present promise of a giggle lodged in the back. “I'm also all about speed and efficiency.” Her giggle bursts free, deliciously naughty and uninhibited. The backup doesn't know how it affected the target, but he himself feels it all the way in the pit of his stomach. The sound of her swallowing clicks in the earpiece, followed by a low sigh.

“Come on,” he mutters, even though she can't hear him, “Move in!”

Maybe she did hear him, because she says, “Where shall we do this, then?”

The target says “We may as well go through here. Do you need to use the bathroom?” muffled footsteps and the sound changes. They're in the bedroom, he supposes.

“I did everything I needed to before I got here,” she answers, then squeaks and hums. He guesses she's being kissed. His guess is confirmed when she hums again, and there are wet sucking noises over the earpiece. At this stage he's not sure if he wants her to place the bag camera or not – just listening to her being kissed is a kind of horrible-yet-erotic torture; she's not with him, which is agonising, but in his mind’s eye he can see her sleepy, aroused eyes, the flush which paints her collarbone when she gets turned on. He wriggles minutely on his chair and talks strictly to himself about damnable professionalism. The sounds of kissing stop and he hears a thump in his earpiece, then a click from the laptop as she activates the camera.

Through the fisheye effect of the tiny lens, the watcher can see about sixty degrees around, which covers the bed and the crack of light from the door into the living area. She moves towards the target and slides long, graceful arms around his neck, pulling his face down for a long, wet kiss. The target goes straight for her breasts – watching the image, her backup thinks no, not there, stroke her back first, it drives her wild, then wonders why he's even bothered if the target arouses her or not. She's not there for her sexual enjoyment, but the mark’s, at least for now. It doesn't matter, because she's faking it well (he hopes). She pushes her breasts into the target’s hands, dragging her own hands over his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt front.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, humour, heat and challenge in her tone. She’s still got her back to the camera, so he can’t see her face, but he would just bet she's pursed her lips and is giving the target those sassy, sexy eyes of hers. Whatever she's doing, it's working, because the target growls and buries his face in her neck, dropping his hands to her hips, pulling them into his pelvis, where he grinds hard. He rubs and pushes whilst biting at the tender join of her neck and mauling her hips and butt with large, brutish hands. The watcher winces, hoping she won't be marked or hurt, then he tells himself she can handle this, stop bloody worrying! She wriggles free of the target and pushes lightly on his chest, taking a single step back. His heavy breathing comes clearly over the audio, even from a slight distance. “I wanna fuck, whore,” he demands, following her like he’s attached.

She turns, presenting her long, smooth back to him. The dress is mostly backless (and sideless, to the listener's surprise when he saw her earlier. “Sideboob is sexy!” she'd told him, lifting an arm. Even the memory of that tender, vulnerable swell makes him swallow hard and groan), fastened by a little twist of a button at her nape, and then nothing but beautiful, burnt-caramel skin until the sequins glitter over her gorgeously rounded backside far below. “Undo me?” she questions. The target is there instantly, sliding the button free, and her dress slides to the floor. From two different angles both men can see her expensive lacy boyshorts, the sweep of her legs clad in shimmery hold ups, and her impossibly high, spiky heels. The light gleams from her skin and both the watcher and the target catch their breath looking at her.

When she turns back she quickly strips the target then puts a hand on his chest and pushes him back towards the bed. The backs of his knees connect with the mattress and he sits abruptly. “Lie back,” she whispers, “ Let me take care of you…” She sinks to her knees between his spread legs, dragging her small, firm breasts with their hard dark nipples down his chest as she does. Kneeling, she keeps eye contact with the target while stroking her hands up his inner thighs before brushing both thumbs over the lump at his crotch. She hooks her thumbs into his waistband and pulls down until the target's erection pops free, bouncing jauntily before her face. She flirts with it, slipping her thumb over the head in slow circles before taking his cock in a firm grip. “How do you like it?” she asks, pulling and twisting slowly. The target just grunts and pushes into her hand, so she moves her hand again while he groans. After an agonising while - to the watcher it is, anyway - and when the target is flushed, sweaty and begging, she stops and stands up, walking out of camera range. The target pushes up on his elbows.

“Where are you going?” he whimpers.

“I’ve got a...special trick,” she replies, off-camera. “Want to see?”

The watcher doesn’t know for sure what she does, but he can guess, because the target’s jaw drops and he fists his cock roughly, saying, “Shit me, yes, do that!” The camera bobbles about as she rummages in the little bad for something, then settles down again with the target centred in the image.

When she comes into view again, she’s stripped off the boyshorts and hold ups and is utterly naked, all lissome curves and sassiness. She’s holding several scarves and what appears to be a bullet vibrator. The watcher’s arousal, which had dimmed while she hand-jobbed the target, roars back. Sweet merciful Christ, she is beautiful. Powerful, confident, at home in her skin. Just glorious. He fights to concentrate as she sweet-talks the target into being bound, hand and foot, to the bed frame and straddles him with her knees pressing into his exposed armpits. The target stares, mesmerised, at her body and she slides one hand up his chest for balance while the other flicks on the bullet which buzzes loudly enough for the earpiece to pick it up.

All the watcher can see now is her back view, and the splayed legs, bobbing cock, and belly of the target. The target is squirming, bucking against the air, desperately trying to get friction where he needs it, but she’s merciless in her power, teasing him with what he can’t have. Curses and pleas spill from the target’s mouth as she toys with herself, driving the watcher’s arousal higher, too. He knows what her face will look like, right at this moment; how her eyes will glitter; how the blood will tint her cheeks; how her lips will plump and part as she turns herself on.

She loves this.

She loves arousing herself whilst both men watch her.

She loves that the target is helpless to do anything while she pleasures herself.

She loves knowing that he is her backup. That he is watching. That he is, inevitably, turned on too, and unable to act on it.

She lifts up, both hands between her legs now, the buzz of the bullet muffled against her body and she shivers as her body tenses. The target is spewing forth filthy, incoherent praise and encouragement as she brings herself closer and closer to orgasm right in front of his face. He’s totally invested in her performance and the watcher suspects he could barge into their room right this minute and Mr. Gladstone wouldn’t even notice as long as she didn’t stop.

Suddenly she stills, keening low under her breath and the target cries out, “Fuck me, yes!” and redoubles his attempts to thrust up at her. She exhales on a quiet giggle and collapses onto her hands, caging him in, tempting him with her breasts swinging over his face but just out of his reach. He swears and begs but she just teases him into a frenzy.

“Shall I show you something really good?” she asks, and the target gasps out his agreement. She kneels up tall and swings her leg over the target to crouch at his side so that the watcher can see everything now. “You’ll just love this,” she says with a glance at the tiny fish-eye camera. She brings the hand with the bullet around and slides it teasingly up to the target’s tensed scrotum, up and round the head of his twitching cock, then down under his balls to his perineum.

Suddenly the buzzing stops and the target screams and flinches, his entire body clenching hard, then he laughs nervously. The vibrator is a Q-branch special, and she’s just activated the tiny stiletto blade built into it.

“Uh, I’m not into, like, knives and shit,” he squeaks. She flashes him a Cheshire Cat grin and leans into him slightly.

“Oh, but I could make it sooooo...goooooood….” she breathes, and licks up his side to his nipple. Then she sits up, still keeping the blade pressed under his balls, and pretends to consider. “On the other hand...I could call a friend, make it a party? You stay there, sweet thing!” She climbs over him and walks slowly, seductively towards her bag, towards the camera, and the watcher swallows hard and thinks desperately of ice, of grannies’ knickers, of stepping in wet dogshit, anything to distract him from noticing the way her breasts bounce or how the shadows play between her thighs. She’s teasing him, and she loves it. She reaches into the bag, jostling the camera, and pulls out a smartphone which she pretends to dial. “Hey, baby!” she says, “I’ve got a great gig here. You want in?”

That’s his signal. He tears his eyes away from the screen, pulls the headphones off, and runs out of the room pulling his weapon as he goes. He knocks twice on the door of 763, then once more, and she answers. She’s still gloriously nude and waves him in with a knowing smirk. “Sir.”

Gareth Mallory, M, head of MI6, walks past Eve Moneypenny without so much as a twitch and focuses on the panicked man tied spread eagle on the bed.

“Really, Gladstone,” he drawls, “Of all the places to find you! And with one of my agents, no less?” He pulls one of the spindly boutique-chic chairs over and sits in it tidily, casually crossing his legs at the knee, gun held almost negligently in his hand. “Now. I suggest you tell me everything you know about SPECTRE, and quickly, or I’ll have to allow my associate to continue her little game….”

Two and a half hours later they leave room 763. Gladstone is in the company of two of Six’s clean-up agents who are dressing him ready for a tactical disappearance. Moneypenny is again dressed and presenting a professional face to the world, but M knows better. He smiles tightly and escorts his lady out of the hotel.

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, all boo-boos totally my fault.
> 
> Had this story noodling around for AGES. I've fancied Ralph Fiennes forever, and him as M makes my knees wobble. I love the idea of posh, reserved, cranky M with vivacious Eve. In my personal headcanon they're a definite thing, but not out yet.
> 
> And they are kinky, too... :)


End file.
